


Idiot!

by OrodrethTheTraitor



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 08:40:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20775695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrodrethTheTraitor/pseuds/OrodrethTheTraitor
Summary: The Elves fight off boredom during the late Third Age...





	1. Idiot!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On his brow sat wisdom.

_Imladris, T.A. 2941_

* * *

Celeborn could not believe his ears.

_"You ... sent ... thirteen ... Naugrim ... to ... stir ... up ... a ... dragon?"_

His heart-son replied calmly as if he were discussing an agreement to trade cloth. "Mithrandir went with them."

The wizard, was, of course, presently sitting at the same council table as the Elves were, discussing how to eject the Necromancer from Dol Goldur.

Celeborn, springing out of his seat, did not even bother to answer the fool. "Orophin! My arms! Erestor, Glorfindel, come with me! Let us pray we are not too late!"

The Lord of Lorien's voice carried as the Elves hurried down the hall. "Erestor, bring your real arms, not those toys you wear to avoid offending me when I visit. Now is not the time for manners! Are there any others here who have fought dragons? Inglor? Good, he can join us."

Mithrandir had also left the room, leaving Elrond alone with Galadriel.

"Really, Elrond, thirteen Dwarves and a Halfling to slay Smaug? You might as well have sent them to Orodruin to vanquish Sauron! Handalóra!"

The Lady then left as well, leaving the Lord of Imladris alone at the head of the ornate table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Handalóra = "idiot" in Quenya
> 
> This probably violates the canonical timeline more than a bit, but I couldn't resist :)


	2. Namesakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History repeats itself.

_Mithlond, T.A. 2960_

* * *

_"Denethor son of Ecthelion son of Turgon shows great promise…"_  
  
The spy's report went on to explain that the young Denethor was likely to serve as a great bulwark against the Enemy when his time came, and why. 

But Cirdan could not help but chuckle. 

_Denethor_ \- a fine name for a great hero. The son of Lenwë had led, fought and died as nobly as any Elf could hope to. But _son of Ecthelion_ would have been rather difficult, as the former Captain of Gondolin had been born many _yeni_ after Denethor, and in any case had not been inclined to father children. As for _grandson of Turgon_, while the ill-fated Noldorin King had been a friend (of sorts) to the Sindar, he would not, Cirdan knew, have deigned to receive the son of Lenwë for an audience, much less call him grandson. For the latter he could perhaps be excused, as it would be disconcerting for any Elf to have a grandson much older than himself; there _had_ been more magic in the world in the Elder Days, but not _that _much.

The Shipwright chuckled once more, suppressed all thoughts of sending a message to Gondor suggesting it would be auspicious for Denethor to name his daughter (should he beget one) _Aredhel_, then turned to the next report.

* * *


	3. On Elven Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel is known for more than one.

Hollin, T.A. 3019

* * *

Aragorn stood watch, pacing softly about the camp, eyes scanning all directions, listening for any sound of other living things. They had seen none save birds that day. All his skill and experience told him the Fellowship was quite safe. For the time being; they would reach the pass of Caradhras in a week, and that assuming they met no Orcs, or worse, beforehand!  
  
He sat down for a moment, pondering the troubles that lay ahead. One enemy in particular troubled him - the Witch King. It was almost certain the Fellowship would encounter the Nazgul again, and the closer to the Black Land, the more powerful would the wraiths be. They would not be driven off with torches again.  
  
He pondered Glorfindel's famous prophecy concerning the Ringwraith - "Not by the hand of Man shall he fall." Was even Anduril an insufficient weapon against the dread King? How should he fight him, should they meet? He unsheathed his blade - perhaps the answer could be found by fixing his mind on it.   
  
Legolas sprang up at the sound, instantly on guard. "What is it? You drew."  
  
"I was wondering what I might do if we meet the Nazgul again. Whether this sword would be sufficient to slay one, if we are forced to confront them."  
  
"Why not?" Legolas asked. "Is it not forged from Narsil, the same blade that laid Sauron himself low?"  
  
"It is, but even so, it may be of little use against the King of Angmar. No man can kill him, if the prophecies are to be believed. And I have no reason to doubt them."  
  
Legolas wavered for a moment. "That particular prophecy may have, ah, expired. I was still mastering my Cirth and learning to use a bow when it was made."  
  
"Glorfindel does not say such things lightly."  
  
Legolas knelt and thought for a long moment. Some of the great Eldar indeed had the gift of true foresight. Cirdan, most certainly. Galadriel and Elrond had not prophecied wrongly, as far as he knew. But Glorfindel? Something he could not remember made him doubt.

* * *

_Three days later..._  
  
"Ah-hah!" exclaimed the Elf. "Now I remember."  
  
All turned to him in surprise - it was a bitter cold, windy, miserable day and none had spoken for over an hour.  
  
"Aragorn, my father told me a story long ago, concerning your Seer. It was told to him by his own father, who in his youth, knew the Elf concerned quite well."   
  
"Your Seer once said that, _without fail_, he _would_ wed Idril Celebrindal."  
  
The Wood-Elf beamed as if he had won a triumph. The others, save Aragorn, gaped at him as if he were mad. Gandalf, realizing the substance, shook his head in exasperation and turned back towards the Mountains.  
  
Aragorn grinned. If, beyond all hope, they defeated Mordor, a certain Elf-Lord would hear of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by Darth Fingon's wonderful "Lauron-nama."


	4. Grey-Leaf Green-Tree Silver-Pilgrim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smokin!

_Lothlorien, T.A. 3019_

* * *

Celeborn and Legolas took their ease, on a large talan not far from the Hall of Welcome. Both Elves sipped spiced wine from fine glasses. They discussed small matters for a few minutes; the comings and goings of some in Thranduil's realm who were known to Celeborn, and vice versa.  
  
Mithrandir sat a polite distance away, with his back to the Elves. Unfortunately the wizard was smoking his blasted pipe. _Again._   
  
_Can he not find another place?_ Celeborn thought in mild annoyance. _This talan is one of our finest, but it is not as though we suffer a shortage!_  
  
The older Elf announced in an Iathren so pure it could have come from the mouth of Daeron, "Let us play a game, Prince!"  
  
Legolas' look of surprise was priceless, but he recovered quickly, understanding. He replied in the same dialect. "Certainly -- it would be my pleasure!"  
  
Mithrandir did not stir, having heard nothing remarkable in the words.  
  
Celeborn switched to the language of Oropher's court, Iathren Sindarin flavored with an old variant of Silvan. "How fares Queen Amrún?"  
  
Legolas' heart warmed at the mention of his beloved grandmother, widow of Oropher. A maternal cousin of Nimloth, she had been close to Celeborn in her youth, and still spoke of him fondly.  
  
He replied in the dialect of the high-born Nando Amrún had been and still, at heart, was. "As well as ever. I will convey your regards to her - she will appreciate them!"_ If I ever return, that is._  
  
Mithrandir smoked contentedly, having paused only briefly to refill his pipe.  
  
Celeborn, concerned at his distant cousin's unspoken fear, reassured him - "If my foresight has not failed me, you will see Amrún again, Prince." - in a rather lower form of Nandorin, still spoken in Thranduil's woods, mostly by servants and farmers.  
  
Legolas, eyes brimming with amusement, replied in rapidfire Greenwood Avarin, the native tongue of his mother. "She misses Grandfather, of course, but she remains here for the rest of us, and is content enough, I believe."  
  
Celeborn had a bit of trouble understanding, but only a little - he had been to the Greenwood many times in the early Second Age, when the current Queen, Thranduil's wife, had been young. But he was not about to bow to this young upstart. And besides, Mithrandir sat stock still, his pipe smoldering in his gnarled hands.  
  
So he replied in a mix of Telerin, and Quenya of both the Noldorin and Vanyarin dialects, imitating Galadriel's speech as it was when she was thoroughly drunk. A rare enough occasion, the last time being at the end of the feast following Celebrian's wedding. _That had been a night to remember!_   
  
"Just as I remain for the sake of my Lady and all who dwell in these woods. And, truth be told, if Amrún is still as she was in her youth, she is no more likely to sail than I am."  
  
Legolas had to repeat the words slowly in his mind. The Telerin Celeborn had spoken was little different from ancient Sindarin, and he had been well educated in Noldorin Quenya, but he knew no one besides Glorfindel and Gildor who spoke the Vanyarin dialect regularly, and they did it mostly to amuse themselves and confuse others. Fortunately he had been their victim often enough to piece the garbled sentence together. It actually helped that Celeborn had pretended to have had far too much wine. _Ah, the many languages of the Quendi, all the same when we're drunk! But I am not as simple as you think, old fellow. _  
  
So he alternated between the cadences of merry Galion and somber Elrond. "Pop's nan will praise stale spider dung to the skies before she'll exit the Wood. And since she won't even dip her toe in the River, I can't see her on a great-boat."   
  
All this was delivered in very-current Greenwood slang that his own father would have been hard put to decipher, but with the accent of a small band of Avari that had come to Thranduil's realm a mere five hundred years back. _Checkmate, Silver Tree_, the younger prince thought.

Celeborn had understood exactly one word of Legolas' reply: "Wood". But the game had been won. Mithrandir's pipe had gone out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After posting this chapter, I headed out for a smoke.


	5. Dell and Cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To fade and diminish.

_Lothlorien, T.A. 3019_

* * *

One thing Legolas had learned about Samwise Gamgee was that though he at times stumbled over words, he had an excellent memory for them. At the moment, this was a source of consternation.

"And the Lady said 'We must depart to the West, or dwindle to a rustic folk of dell and cave, slowly to forget and to be forgotten.' What a pity! To have to sail and leave home, or else to dwindle. A shame that if our Quest succeeds, this place will fade." the Hobbit said wistfully.

Sam was surprised to see Legolas' bright eyes darken.

"A-rustic-folk-of-dell-and-cave." the Prince of Mirkwood spoke as if to himself. "Sam, do you know what sort of folk she was referring to? Surely Bilbo told you of his time in my father's Halls."

Sam reddened. "She meant ... they would become like your folk?" The Lady had meant _that_?

"I suppose to that suffer the inconveniences wrought by Time is more than the Lady could bear. She has fought the Enemy since before my father was born, so I will not speak ill of her. But know, Sam, that we rustic folk have done well enough in our caves."

But Legolas was not Thranduil, much less Oropher, so he laughed off the old resentment and said to the Hobbit, "As have your people! Your hole on Bagshot Row is not a 'cave', is it? Well, neither is mine."

Legolas smiled, to show the Hobbit he was not offended, and added: "Oh, and Sam? If you wish to know more of the many indignities of living in a _cave_, you should ask Lord Celeborn. He has given ... much study to the matter!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Galadriel didn't remember her time in Menegroth as favorably as one might expect?


	6. Like the Glittering Caves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those House-of-Finwë Ladies are (...)

_Minas Tirith, T.A. 3019_

* * *

_"Then I must go for my axe."_  
  
Man and Dwarf were locked in such an intense staring contest that both jumped in suprise when each felt a strong hand grip their respective shoulders.  
  
"My sister and grandmother would be most displeased, were they to overhear this conversation."  
  
Apologies commenced immediately, but were cut off as Elrohir broke into a wide grin.  
  
"Nay, it is too late. You underestimate Elven hearing, my friends. Be sure that both Arwen and Galadriel heard everything you said!"  
  
It was difficult to tell whether the son of Gloin or the King of Rohan turned a deeper shade of crimson.  
  
"Perhaps I may be of assistance?"  
  
Eomer recovered first. "Nay, Lord. We should not have spoken so in the hall."  
  
"Nonsense. Now the ladies shall forget their impending parting for a time - for jealousy of one another!"  
  
Elrohir's voice changed in remarkable mimicry. "Oh, the hair as golden as Laurelin!" "Oh, the image of Luthien!" 

He laughed again. "You are not the first friends to debate this weighty matter. But I offered assistance, and you shall have it."  
  
Gimli could not decide whether to scowl or chortle. "Assistance?"  
  
"Assistance. I shall bring you the greatest connoisseur of Elven beauty East of the Sea. He is here. Wait a moment."  
  
A few minutes later, Glorfindel appeared, looking worried. He nodded slightly to Man and Dwarf in turn. 

"Gimli son of Gloin, Eomer King, Elrohir tells me there is a grave matter on which you desire my counsel. He spoke urgently. What troubles you?"  
  
Eomer reminded himself that he should at least _attempt_ to act in a manner befitting his station. Gimli did similarly, but Eomer spoke first. 

"Gimli and I were debating who is the fairest Lady present. Elrohir said.. he said none East of the Sea could answer this better than yourself." _Composure maintained, barely._  
  
Glorfindel reddened. At length he responded, "Then Elrohir will not enjoy his next sparring session with his Captain. But, since I am here..."

And so, Gimli and Eomer received an education. Without naming names, Glorfindel reminded them that Arwen was the daughter of Galadriel's daughter, and might not an ... _intermediate ..._ beauty be greater still? On the other hand, while Galadriel's tresses were indeed remarkable, she was hardly the only Elf with golden hair _(Gimli thought that this statement was rather unnecessary, considering the source)_, and might not the undiluted beauty of certain Vanyarin princesses, also among Arwen's foremothers, be worthy of consideration? 

The variations were described in detail, in a tone like to that with which Gimli had described the Glittering Caves.  
  
Glorfindel read the Dwarf's thoughts, and replied, amused. "Yes, such gifts from the One are scarcely to be imagined in dreams, unless you have seen them with waking eyes." 

But though the wine and ale flowed in plenty, that night none of the three lords found sleep easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel might well interpret the word "present" differently than Mortals do.


	7. Rats in Gondolin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were some, and then there weren't, he explained.

_Minas Tirith, F. A. 3019_

* * *

Glorfindel stood upon one of the many bastions of the Seventh Circle, surveying the lands eastward. It seemed impossible that Sauron had vanished from Arda entirely, when ever before he had merely abandoned his material form temporarily. Besides the famed warriors of the Last Alliance, his friend Finrod had also "slain" the Maia, to no avail. Or so he had said -- Finda's tale had been understandably vague on that point. But for that matter, if bodily form were so important, Huan had "slain" him too! Celebrating a victory was one thing, but how could all be so certain that this time…

A very small Guard of the Citadel tapped him lightly on the elbow. "Glorfindel?"

_Caught off guard by a Hobbit. That'll teach me to obsess over imponderables. It is well that it was not Aragorn._

"Good morn, Peregrin. The sunrise is magnificent, is it not?" The Elf-Lord turned back eastwards - sunrise over a Black Land free of the Enemy was nothing less.

"It is wonderful." Pippin replied, and then followed with "Did they have rats in Gondolin? Faramir was telling us tales of your city, and they all sounded so impossible. He said he did not know whether the long years had changed the tales, and then started talking about someone named Pengolodh, and … well, Faramir's a grand fellow, but when he starts talking of scribes and … such, rather than Wizards and Dragons, it's time to take your leave!"

Glorfindel laughed aloud. He had been warned of the Steward's insatiable curiosity before arriving in Minas Tirith, and had so far managed to avoid being cornered and questioned on the finer points of Turgon's councils _(the handful that had not been excruciatingly dull, had been terrifying)_, or the policies of Tuor _(rather limited in scope, truth be told)_, or a thousand other things he had no wish to recount.

"Because it sounded so perfect and tragic - not real. So I wanted to know, did Gondolin have rats? If it did, the other stories will be easier to believe, somehow."

Glorfindel briefly considered answering "The arts of the Noldor were such that the vermin of Morgoth could not enter," or something similarly fantastic. _Pengolodh, indeed!_ He was glad Erestor was not present - the mere mention of that scribe's name would put his friend in a foul mood for days.

"So, did you have rats?" Pippin looked up hopefully.

"We did, in the beginning." the ancient warrior admitted. "But we brought many cats with us from Nevrast, when we moved. So, after a while, the rats died out. There were still mice, though. I remember one day Salgant…"

But the Hobbit did not hear, having gleefully run off. "I won the bet, Merry!" the Elf heard as the small figure drew near the tower. "No duty the rest of the day!"

Glorfindel wondered what would happen if he told Faramir that the Gondolindrim had also been famed as, ah, "expert storytellers", but thought better of it. Better to let a simple spirit remain so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel's recollection of those First Age single-combat battles may be a bit sketchy...
> 
> In Erestor's humble opinion, Pengolodh played fast and loose with the historical facts.


End file.
